


I'm Leaving (arriving?) on a Jet Plane

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt for: loss of hearing</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Leaving (arriving?) on a Jet Plane

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: vomiting

Merlin growls, under his breath, strapping the little girl (Robin? Rudy? Ruby? He can’t remember there are too many kids on this stupid flight) and does his usual patter, smiling at the girl’s father (hidden behind a newspaper). The call button buzzes for the millionth time and Merlin pulls an apologetic face and leaves the child, citing the ‘call of duty’, and quickly delivers the ginger-ale to the travel sick woman and the peanuts to the very, VERY bad tempered businessman and the call button buzzes again.

 

“Merlin, you’re bright red,” Cedric says, leaning on the seat in front of Merlin, blocking his way.

 

“Excuse me. Unless you want to deal with the one pressing the buzzer every second? Which you should be, seeing as you have nothing to do, seemingly? How is that, when we have almost a full cabin and everyone wants something and, seeing as it’s first class, they’re all demanding ponces about it?”

 

“I don’t know, Merlin. I think I’m busy, sorry.”

 

Cedric minces away and Merlin, aware that the angry red in his cheeks is not abating, moves to the seat that’s eternally calling him. He opens his mouth, something impolite on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite let it fall off. The man pressing the buzzer (twice more) is utterly, utterly gorgeous.

 

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” Merlin says, shaking his head, “because you have been pressing that non-stop and driving me round the bend.”

 

The man doesn’t turn to face Merlin. He ignores him completely.

 

“Is it working? Gwaine, why isn’t it working?” he says, still with his back to Merlin.

 

A man (equally gorgeous, with amazing hair) leans around the first man and laughs, waving at Merlin.

 

“Sorry, sorry mate! Entirely, entirely my fault. Just getting my jollies. Hang about a min,” he says.

 

He scribbles on a small pad of paper and passes it to the blond man, who squints at it, then jerks round, wide eyed, and spots Merlin. His face settles into a grim line.

 

“You need to get the bell fixed, it didn’t work,” he says, loudly.

 

The other guy takes the pad back and scribbles something else, then makes big, puppy dog eyes and hands it over as if reluctant. He gets hit over the head with the pad for his trouble.

 

“I apologise,” the blond says, still too loud, “my ‘friend’ thinks it’s funny that I can hear next to nothing at the moment and has been telling me pressing the buzzer was having no effect.”

 

“Right. That’s what the light’s for,” Merlin points out, pressing the buzzer (after all, Cedric’s the only one to annoy and he deserves it) to demonstrate, pointing to the way it lights up.

 

“Ah. The light. Gwaine said that meant it didn’t work.”

 

“Arthur here is unaccustomed to first class flight,” Gwaine says, leaning forwards again, “I’m taking him as a treat.”

 

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind winding him up in ways that don’t have the added bonus of making me jump without a parachute I would very much appreciate it,” Merlin says.

 

Gwaine laughs and Merlin decides that he really is very lovely. Merlin smiles back and cocks his hip a little, tilting his head, then sticks his hand out.

 

“Merlin,” he says, taking Gwaine’s in a soft, careful grip and running his thumb over it instead of shaking, keeping hold, “I’m your flight attendant. What can I do for you?”

 

Gwaine grins wide and wicked and Merlin bites his lip, as if to stop another smile. Then he’s shoved (admittedly it’s a gentle shove) by Arthur, who is scowling fiercely up at him. Oops. Seems the ‘friends’ theory needs to be upgraded to ‘boyfriends’.

 

“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Arthur says, too quiet this time, almost a hiss, “but I want a cup of coffee and some boiled sweets, if that’s possible?”

 

“Of course,” Merlin says, remembers Arthur can’t hear and nods, signing instead.

 

“I can’t do that,” Arthur says, disgruntled and, if Merlin’s not imagining things, embarrassed, “I tried to learn once and I can sign my name, but that’s it. I have to resort to pen and paper.”

 

Merlin smiles and takes the pad Arthur holds out, promising to fetch all that he’s asked for and checking there’s nothing else.

 

“You could stop flirting with Gwaine. God, anything that moves, I swear. He’s like a walking talking advert for disease,” Arthur mutters.

 

“Hey!” Gwaine protests.

 

“Oh shut up, he’ll still want you and you’re droopy cock. It tilts to the right,” Arthur says, far too loud again. Gwaine covers his face with an in-flight magazine and Merlin glances around, watching the people nearest them glaring over, disapproval clear.

 

“Too loud, pumpkin,” Gwaine says.

 

Merlin scribbles a quick aoology for flirting with Arthur’s boyfriend and then goes to get the requested items. He takes other orders on his way and it’s a bit before he gets back to the highly amusing couple, by which time Gwaine has fallen asleep with his head on Arthur’s shoulder. It’s kind of sweet and makes Merlin smile, a little wistfully.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend, you idiot,” Arthur snaps, taking the coffee and sweets, “wipe that awful look off your face.”

 

Merlin just grins and shrugs. He supposes they soon will be boyfriends, whatever Arthur says. He’s about to tell Arthur so when an announcement demands everyone sit down and put a seat belt on because a storm’s coming. Merlin’s about to move down the plane when it jerks and rolls to the left and he tumbles into Arthur’s lap, making Arthur cry out.

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Merlin says, getting to his feet and trying to balance, clinging to the seat.

 

“What?” Arthur says, “What? Is this, are we, are we crashing?”

 

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur takes the idea of plunging nose first into the sea very calmly. He shrugs Gwaine off his shoulder and shoves until Gwaine moves into the seat by the window, then he shifts himself across to Gwaine’s empty seat and pulls Merlin into the third and final seat in the row, strapping him in like a toddler and passing him the pad.

 

“Information,” Arthur demands, “am I supposed to be calling my sister to wish her a fond farewell? Because I haven’t seen her for years and would prefer not to, but I can’t think of anyone else to call.”

 

Merlin scribbles ‘turbulence’ and hands it back. Arthur reads, head on one side, then shrugs and passes the pad back across.

 

“Might as well stay here, anyway. How much longer is the flight? Gwaine’s boring as hell.”

 

Merlin looks across to where Gwaine is snoring, drooling on the window. The plane is unsteady in the air and keeps rolling to the left but Gwaine just sleeps on. Maybe he’s as used to flying as Merlin is.

 

“Still a few hours,” Merlin says, then checks in with the pilot and writes the estimate of fifteen hours onto Arthur’s pad.

 

“I don’t know why I do these things,” Arthur mutters, “twenty hour flight is never a good thing, make note. One always ends up saddled with a drooling Gwaine.”

 

Merlin opens his mouth, then remembers the pad.

 

-I thought you’d never flown before?-

 

“Never flown FIRST CLASS. Gwaine’s just a rich bastard who likes to show off. I fly regularly, actually. I’m Arthur Pandragon.”

 

Merlin recognises the name, but can’t place it, and his confusion must show on his face because Arthur rolls his eyes and snatches the magazine off the floor where it fell off Gwaine’s lap and riffles through before shoving it at Merlin. It’s open on an interview, reprinted from elsewhere, with Arthur.

_Arthur Pendragon, friends to a-list actors, models, photographers, artists, athletes, is a down to earth, genuinely nice guy._

-Genuinely nice guy? Seriously? That’s what they thought? Did you pay them?-

 

Arthur laughs, reading Merlin’s scrawl, and pokes at the page so Merlin reads on.

_Pendragon was the youngest player on the English football squad when he started at seventeen (and a half, as he used to tell us whenever he was interviewed), until 2007 when he took up charitable enterprise. Since then Pendragon has volunteered all over the world for all sorts of charities and organisations, including UNICEF, Red Cross and Oxfam. In 2009 he set up a charity that works with children, mostly in southern parts of Africa and Mexico, though the reach of the organisation is always growing-_

Merlin stops reading as it clicks. Arthur Pendragon. He’s been in the news recently, because of the Ebola thing and the research into treatment his organisation has been doing.

 

-You never fly first class? Aren’t you absurdly rich?-

 

“I don’t, and I am,” Arthur says, looking smug about both facts, “I fly economy because it seems to make people see me as humble. I’m not, by the way. Humble. I’m proud of what I’ve done, a little arrogant. Stupid news people always ask about the cure stuff. Idiots. We are doing R&D, obviously, and we donate a chunk of money to the people who can actually make a difference in that area, but mostly we’re working on educating people. Seeing as we have extensive links within local communities but very little experience with R&D.”

 

“It sounds interesting.”

 

Merlin remembers to write it, but Arthur’s already smiling at him.

 

“Sounds interesting?” Arthur asks, then laughs, “it’s a pretty pat response, Merlin. Everyone says it.”

 

-How did you know my name?-

 

“Gwaine. I asked. Because I’m a ‘genuinely nice guy’.”

 

-you’re an arse-

 

The plane rocks and Lance, the pilot this trip, reminds everyone to stay seated, voice tenser than Merlin likes.

 

“I’m lovely. It says so, right here.”

 

Arthur points to a paragraph later on and Merlin reads it.

_Arthur tells us that curing Ebola isn’t the aim of his charity. In fact, he says, what they’re working on at the moment is making connections with rural communities in affected areas to try and help slow the spread. We know he’s just being modest, though, because we’ve heard a lot about the recent-_

-It says nothing of the sort.-

 

“Have you never seen Singing in the Rain?”

 

-I have?-

 

“"People"? I ain't "people." I am a - "a shimmering, glowing star in the cinema firmament."”

 

“It says so- right here,” Merlin says, remembering it, laughing.

 

-My Mum loves that film, we used to watch it a billion times. It was our Christmas movie-

 

The plane jerks and Arthur looks up, face a little tense, before reading Merlin’s note.

 

“Bad storm?” Arthur asks, “do you need to do things?”

 

-No, I need to stay seated. Lance can use the radio if he needs us to do more, or needs to keep people calm. This cabin seems to be full of seasoned travellers, no one’s panicking-

 

Merlin checks while Arthur reads that. People are tense, and the little girl (maybe Rachel?) is bouncing up and down, excited, a stuffed rabbit in her hands. A woman is crying, but her partner is cuddling and soothing her so Merlin leaves them to it.

 

“I feel a bit sick,” Arthur admits.

 

-do you get travel sick?-

 

Merlin reaches for a sick bag and a bottle of water, but Arthur waves both aside.

 

“No, I don’t, I’m fine. I just feel sick. This is going to make the flight even longer and we were already running late because Gwaine missed the flight we were supposed to take.”

 

-is it important you be on time?-

 

“Gwaine is supposed to be attending a fundraiser we’re running. He’s the ‘celebrity guest’ to help persuade people to part with vast sums of money.”

 

-Celebrity?-

 

“Do you live under a rock? Gwaine Green. He’s a singer?”

 

-Oh-

 

Merlin still has no idea who he is, which Arthur picks up on and rolls his eyes at but he then smiles at Merlin, a baffled, exasperated smile but a smile non the less. He hasn’t really smiled yet, and Merlin is a bit blown away by the way it makes his face bright and clear and amazing and good things.

 

“Never mind. You’d know him if you heard one of his songs, but never mind.”

 

-would it make you less sick if I pretended we’d be there on time?-

 

Arthur snorts.

 

“Not what’s making me sick, that was a change in subject. My ears hurt.”

 

Merlin frowns, but can’t think of anything to say to that. Arthur rolls his eyes again.

 

“I had a ridiculously high fever and it has made me temporarily deaf. It was suggested that I not fly but I bribed a doctor to sign off on it. Not actually bribed, you understand, I simply signed stuff for his football obsessed son and it made him soften his attitude. Anyway, the pressure hurts.”

 

“I guess the storm makes it worse,” Merlin says, then writes.

 

“It might, I suppose. I don’t care.”

 

-Are you gonna start bleeding from random orifaces?-

 

Arthur laughs again and shakes his head, but then leans forward to rub at his face. Merlin hesitates, wondering if he should inform someone. Gwen’s in business class and she’s a first aider. Cedric is too, but he’s not as nice as Gwen.

 

“I’m fine,” Arthur says, as if reading Merlin’s mind, sitting up, “now, you know about me, what about you? What have you achieved in your lifetime? Any charities in your name?”

 

Merlin catches the light in Arthur’s eye that suggests he’s teasing, but he rises to the bait anyway.

 

“I fly all over the world and make friends with random people on the planes, who I then put into books. I will eviscerate you with my pen, so watch out.”

 

Merlin remembers about Arthur’s hearing problems when Arthur shoves the pad at him. Merlin scribbles his argument down, more or less word for word.

 

“I will eviscerate you in fiction, is the quote,” Arthur says, “so you’re a wannabe writer?”

 

-I’m a published writer, you dick. Admittedly, only a vaguely published writer-

 

“How does one go about being ‘vaguely published’?”

 

-one wins a completion and gets a short story in a book, gets a poem published in a magazine, that kind of thing. I self-published a novel but it was shite and I sold approx. four of them. I think my Mum bought three.-

 

Arthur sniggers, rubbing his ear. Merlin is about to ask if he’s okay but the plane rolls violently to the left and knocks Merlin into Arthur’s side and Arthur catches him, steadying him, body warm and solid and Merlin can feel him breathing, and it’s rather distracting.

 

“I thought you flight attendants were supposed to be steady on your feet, not the clumsiest people on the planet,” Arthur says.

 

“Oh shut it.”

 

Merlin’s sure that Arthur got the gist of that so he doesn’t bother writing it, just rights himself and straightens his uniform.

 

“What was your novel about?”

 

-that’s like ‘that sounds interesting’.-

 

“So it is. I apologise.”

 

-so you should. Also, I did the text for a graphic novel my friend drew. It’s brilliant and published for real.-

 

“Anything I’d have read?”

 

-not really. It’s about gender queer knights, princes and princess and all sorts of magical creatures. It’s cool but not something a lot of people read.-

 

Arthur’s face lights up and he beams at Merlin as if that’s the most brilliant thing ever.

 

“What’s it called? I’ll look it up.”

 

-Ezekiel-

 

“Like the prophet?”

 

-yup. Exactly. It’s a kind of prophecy? It’s a bit… it’s a bit kind of au?-

 

“Cool.”

 

Arthur’s rubbing his ears again, face pinched. Merlin touches his shoulder, asking if he’s okay.

 

“I’m okay. It’s giving me a headache and… I’m going to throw up.”

 

Merlin shakes open a bag and hold it out, practised in the art of vomit-catching. Arthur is a fairly neat thrower-upper, and everything lands in the bag. Coffee, sweets, and bile.

 

“Did you not eat today?”

 

Arthur, of course, doesn’t hear that. Merlin can imagine, though, that Arthur would mock him for examining his puke and say mean things, so Merlin doesn’t repeat it. He waits for Arthur to finish and then presses his radio.

 

“Lance, I have a sick passenger. Is it safe for me to move around a little?”

 

*We’ve hit a calm spot, so yeah. I don’t know how far this stretches, though, so don’t take your time.*

 

“Got you.”

 

Merlin hands Arthur another sick bag and goes to dispose of the first and get some supplies. He frowns and then ducks into business class. Gwen’s sat at the top, luckily, so Merlin doesn’t have to totter clumsily down the aisle when the plane rolls a little.

 

*sorry Merlin, should be calm a bit longer now*

 

“Thanks Lance.”

 

“Hey Merlin,” Gwen says, “all okay?”

 

“I have a guy back there who has some kind of problem with his ears. He had a high fever that effected his hearing?”

 

“Probably medication he was given rather than the fever itself, unless it was meningitis, or mumps? Is he experiencing pain?”

 

“Yeah, and it’s causing headaches and sickness.”

 

“Mm. Balance may be off. Not much we can do, is he complaining?”

 

“Not at all, till he nearly vomited. And then again when he did vomit.”

 

“Just keep an eye on it.”

 

The plane rocks again and Lance tells Merlin to go back to his seat so Merlin retreats. Arthur’s thrown up again but Cedric’s already lurching away with the paper bag. He scowls at Merlin, as if it’s Merlin’s fault that Arthur vomited, but Merlin just goes to sit back next to Arthur (after checking his other passengers don’t need anything, of course, because he’s not going to leave some poor bugger to Cedric’s clutches).

 

“I feel like shit,” Arthur mutters.

 

“You look like shit, too.”

 

“I can hear just enough to catch the tone of that, Merlin,” Arthur says, acerbically.

 

There’s a tilt of a smile to his mouth though. It seems that insulting Arthur actually cheers him up.

 

“You’re a bit of a weirdo, you know that?” Merlin says.

 

Arthur sits up and looks at him, surprise spreading over his face, chased by amusement.

 

“You’re not supposed to talk to passengers like that.”

 

“I thought you couldn’t hear?”

 

Arthur frowns, so Merlin scribbles it down.

 

“I have no idea what you said,” Arthur admits, “just caught ‘weird’.”

 

-Wierdo, actually. You are a bit of one.-

 

“Oh. Yeah, perhaps. But only if you judge by someone else’s standard of ‘normality’. From my perspective I’m entirely normal, you know.”

 

Merlin can’t help the wide smile that breaks over his face at that, nor can he help the hand that rests on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezes.

 

-I could have used a bit of that sentiment a few times in my life-

 

Merlin’s surprised when that makes Arthur knit their fingers together, smiling in return.

 

“Me too,” Arthur says, softly.

 

Merlin decides not to ask. He’d kind of assumed Arthur was a sporty, rich, jock type person who never needed any kind of confidence boost. Then again, he didn’t even look weird or ask any questions about ‘gender-queer’, he has a ready-made answer and ‘game face’ to being called weird, he spends his life on a charity of his own creation. Perhaps there’s more than Merlin assumed.

 

-you’re holding my hand-

 

“I am. I was hoping that it would lead to you kissing me, to take my mind off this dreadful pain.”

 

-I think you’re not as smooth as you think-

 

Arthur grins at him and lets Merlin’s hand go.

 

“I did it absent-mindedly, I have no concept of boundaries, apparently. Although I wouldn’t mind the kissing, we should go to dinner, first. You can escort me to the fancy pants dinner that comes after the fund-raising schmoozing.”

 

“Doesn’t all this cost loads of money?”

 

Merlin rolls his eyes at himself this time, so Arthur doesn’t have to, and grabs the pad.

 

-I’ve always wondered if these fancy fundraisers cost more than they made?-

 

“Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. Depends what you’re looking for. Sometimes it’s more about awareness than money, sometimes it’s about changing opinions by bringing in celebrities who appeal to people who wouldn’t usually give a shite about the cause, it can be about a lot of things. Personally, I tend to run them using volunteers for staff, with locations who offers discounts and the catering this time is done by someone who I volunteered for UNICEF with and who is offering a hugely discounted rate as long as I procure several favours for her from Gwaine. Who she fancies the pants off.”

 

-you use your charm to make it all free-

 

Arthur grins and shakes his head.

 

“I’m not half as smooth as people think. Everyone finds it simply adorable how un-charming I am.”

 

-Sneaky-

 

Arthur’s smile tightens and Merlin thinks he’s offended him for a moment, but then Arthur groans and leans forward to rub at his eyes and then cup his left ear.

 

“Buggering Fuck,” Arthur says, far too loud.

 

Gwaine wakes up with a snort and frowns at Arthur then rolls his eyes.

 

“They did tell you not to fly,” Gwaine says, “idiot.”

 

He grabs the pad and scribbles it, too, so Arthur can read the insults. Arthur turns to answer, but vomits instead. Into Gwaine’s lap. Merlin watches, complaisant. Gwaine clearly hasn’t perfected the art of vomit catching.

 

“Oh god,” Arthur mutters, “sorry, sorry.”

 

“Fantastic,” Gwaine says, “and I suppose, due to this rocking, I can’t go change. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

 

Gwaine strips out of his shirt and wriggles until his jeans are off and then sits, perfectly comfortable, in his underwear, while Merlin gets him a plastic bag. Gwaine then tugs his carry-on out and wriggles into a pair of shorts and a jumper before punching Arthur lightly on the shoulder and passing him a puke bag.

 

“Thanks,” Arthur says.

 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow at the response, then shrugs and goes back to sleep against the window. Arthur leans forward, clutching the bag, breathing heavily.

 

“Easy,” Merlin says, then remembers Arthur can’t hear and instead rubs his back.

 

A litany of soothing nonsense comes out anyway, Merlin can’t really stop it. Arthur sit back eventually and smiles, breathing vomit smell at Merlin.

 

“Thanks.”

 

-I talked. Couldn’t help it, habit-

 

“I heard. Not the words, but it was a nice drone.”

 

Arthur closes his eyes and pulls a leg up, resting his head on his knee and groaning.

 

*We’re smoothing out up here, guys. Five minutes, then you can do your thing*

 

“Thanks Elyan,” Merlin says, “I might need Gwen in here.”

 

*Merlin, Cedric is a first aider,* Lance snaps.

 

*I am a first aider,* Cedric agrees, *dick.*

 

“I don’t need a first aider, I need a doctor. This guy’s white as a sheet and keeps vomiting and has some thing with his ears and was suggested not to fly and is in a considerable amount of pain. Sound like something you want to deal with, Ceddy?”

 

*We might need Gwen up here,* Cedric says.

 

*I’ll swap when we’re calm* Gwen says, sounding amused.

 

Merlin grins and turns back to Arthur, who’s resting against the back of his seat now. Merlin nudges him to get his attention.

 

-Still okay to read?-

 

“Yeah.”

 

-Do you want to lie down? The seat reclines. There’s plenty of room.-

 

Arthur hesitates, but he’s very white and he looks awful and Merlin lets his worry show and Arthur shrugs.

 

-should be calm enough soon-

 

The seat belt light pops off a few minutes later and Merlin helps Arthur curl up, undoing his belt and helping him get comfortable. He makes sure he has a bottle of water and a sick bag, then he undoes his own seat belt.

 

“Can you get Gwaine’s belt? He’ll be more comfortable. Maybe recline the seat?” Arthur asks.

 

Merlin reaches over to do as asked and Gwaine mumbles himself half awake, then subsides with a blissful sigh back into sleep. Then Gwen appears and Merlin gives up his space and does the rounds of the cabin to make sure everyone’s okay after the drama and supply them with headphones, crosswords, blankets etc. He takes a bit of extra time with the kids, because that gets them good reviews, and then does a quick round for food and drink orders before heading back to Arthur.

 

“He’s alright,” Gwen says, “probably shouldn’t be flying, but it won’t cause more damage. I’ve given him a painkiller and something to help the nausea. I think he’s asleep.”

 

“He’s not,” Gwaine says, on his back, eyes shut, “I can feel him thinking. He thinks very loudly.”

 

“You two seem to know one another well,” Merlin says, smiling, almost fond of them both by now.

 

Gwaine grunts but otherwise ignores that.

 

“Merlin?” Arthur says, opening his eyes, “ah, you’re back. You’re friend is lovely, but I prefer you.”

 

“My friend is still here,” Merlin says, pointing Gwen out, who’s just risen from the seat.

 

Arthur smiles at Gwen, a slightly besotted smile.

 

“Thank you, Gwen,” Arthur says, “you’re truly a life saver. Do you want anything in return? I’m really rather rich and important. A Lamborghini?”

 

Gwen writes a note and passes it over before touching Merlin’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll cover the cabin for a bit if you’ll sit with him?” she says.

 

“Sure,” Merlin agrees, too readily.

 

She grins and winks before sauntering away. Merlin regrets not teasing her about her crush on Lance, now. Seeing as she’s being mean about Arthur. Merlin sits and glares at her. Arthur nudges him and passes him the note.

 

“See?” Arthur says, “she knows who I am.”

 

-no, Mr Pendragon, just keep doing what you’re doing- Gwen’s note says.

 

“I bet you told her,” Merlin mutters.

 

He writes it out in clear letters for Arthur, which makes Arthur grin.

 

“Can you natter again?” Arthur asks, “might help me fall asleep. White noise.”

 

Merlin does and Gwaine cracks open an eye ten minutes later and informs him that Arthur’s asleep. Merlin goes to take his break and get in a quick nap of his own before relieving Gwen.

 

Arthur sleeps for three hours, which means Merlin is free to do his job. It should be a good thing, but he’d enjoyed Arthur’s company and the excuse to ignore the more obnoxious passengers. Gwen returns to her own cabin and Merlin’s stuck with Cedric again, too, which is not fun. Cedric smirks and makes snide comments and leaves most of the work to Merlin.

 

Also, when Arthur wakes up Cedric sits beside him and makes sympathetic noises and is all over Arthur and touching him and being nice and Merlin is not, definitely not jealous and is definitely not glaring and the way Arthur laughs at Cedric is not getting on his nerves. NOT.

 

“Can I get you anything?” Merlin says, to the woman behind Arthur’s seat, smiling, doing his job.

 

“No, thank you. Though, if you wouldn’t mind talking my friend through the turbulence? She got nervous, and just in case it happens again, you know?”

 

Merlin does so, absently, by rote. He’s paying more attention to Cedric and Arthur than to what he’s saying. Cedric’s got his earnest tone on and is fawning over what an honour it is to meet THE Arthur Pendragon. When he says that Arthur glances up and notices Merlin, and gives him a significant look as if to say ‘see? He’s heard of me, too’. Merlin glares back.

 

Half an hour later Cedric’s still glued to the seat next to Arthur and Merlin’s been running about like a chicken with its head cut off trying to cover the whole cabin on his own. He’s flustered, a little sweaty, very bad tempered and his patience is wearing thin. Which is why he ignores Arthur’s buzzer twice before stomping over.

 

“What can I get you?” Merlin asks, remembers Arthur can’t hear and looks around for the notebook.

 

Arthur’s writing in it and passes it over. Merlin frowns, but reads the note.

 

-Who is this guy? Make him be gone, yeah? He’s giving me a headache and won’t stop going on about how brilliant I am.-

 

Merlin grins.

 

“Cedric,” Merlin says, flicking on his radio so Lance will catch on and cover him, “Lance wants a word up front. Something about the possibility of future turbulence? Probably because you’ve been doing this job for years and years and I’m still the rookie.”

 

Cedric glares, but can do anything but frump away to the top of the cabin. Merlin checks his watch, decides he’s allowed a five minute break and slumps next to Arthur.

 

“He just kept talking, even when I explained I couldn’t hear him,” Arthur says, sounding disgruntled, “I woke up refreshed and headache gone, and now my temples are pounding thanks to him. Why didn’t you save me earlier?”

 

-because you’re a prat and I was working. For two people. Because Cedric is supposed to cover half the work and he was busy kissing your arse.-

 

“Yeah. I preferred your particular brand of rudeness and honesty, really. Even if it was incredibly unprofessional.”

 

-I’m wonderful, shut up-

 

Merlin is very good at reading his passengers. It’s one of the things that got him the job, his ability to judge a situation and tailor his attitude to it. He’s very good at simpering and being polite, he has lovely manners to show off, but he knows without a doubt that Arthur prefers this. Merlin does, too. Not having to curtail himself is a nice break. Arthur smiles, trying not to.

 

“Gwaine’s snoring again,” Arthur says, “you’re working, Cedric is an annoying twit, what am I to do for entertainment?”

 

“Sleep?” Merlin says, miming it.

 

Arthur shifts, as if uncomfortable, then bites his lip and shrugs.

 

-still in pain?- Merlin guesses.

 

“A little. More, it’s uncomfortable. It’s very weird, not being able to hear things. It’s a bit… I’m used to being able to…it’s weird.”

 

Merlin starts talking again, gesturing and miming to begin with, then toning it further and further down as Arthur droops slowly into his seat. He dozes off and Merlin takes a moment to gather himself, then heaves himself up and back to work. Merlin doesn’t have a chance to see Arthur again for another four hours, when he gets another five minutes break. He grabs a coffee and heads to the back.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur says, as he passes, “if you wouldn’t mind the company? I don’t want to interrupt your break or make you work through it.”

 

Merlin grins and sits, reassuring Arthur that it isn’t work. Arthur’s face goes from closed and uncertain to a wide open smile, which is vaguely endearing. A bit mad, too. Merlin sips his coffee and breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Tired?” Arthur asks.

 

-long shift- Merlin scribbles.

 

“You work the whole fifteen hours?”

 

-pretty much, yeah. I got a break for a nap earlier. I have a day off at the other end, so I can sleep then.-

 

“Just one day?”

 

Merlin nods and closes his eyes again.

 

“I guess there’s not time for you to escort me to my dinner,” Arthur says, sounding genuinely disappointed.

 

-you were serious about that?-

 

“Yeah. I was. I’ll leave you my number, okay? I live in London, so if you’re ever there… well, it’s your choice, of course.”

 

-I’ll definitely get in touch,- Merlin promises, -I’ll even come to your dinner, if I’m awake.-

 

Arthur beams at him, but it quickly fades to a grimace and he hunches forward, rubbing his forehead.

 

“Sorry, I might puke again.”

 

Merlin shakes out a bag and plays catch the vom again, just in time. Arthur manages rather a spectacular show for someone who has very little in his stomach. If the retching is anything to go by, he has very little, at least. Merlin winces and touches his shoulder, rubbing until Arthur’s done.

 

“Oh god. Ugh. It’s flying that’s done it, my balance was almost back to normal. I might have to nap when we land, too. Bugger everything to hell, this is a huge disaster of a day. I’m gonna slit Gwaine’s throat for this, it’s his fault I’m late. Damn it!”

 

Arthur leans forward and vomits again, mostly dry heaving and retching. Merlin makes a face, because it’s disgusting, but doesn’t comment. When Arthur’s done Merlin waits a moment to check, then goes to dispose of the gross bag.

 

-we’ll be landing soon- Merlin reassures, afterwards.

 

“Oh joy of joy. Diving through the sky is going to help the pressure in my ears and the nausea for sure.”

 

“Lance? How are the other cabins?” Merlin asks, pressing his radio.

 

*No problems. Why, you have an issue?*

 

“Kind of. The guy with the ears is still having problems, I’d feel happier keeping him company when we come in to land?”

 

*Right. Sounds fine.*

 

-I’m going to sit with you, when it’s time,-

 

“Thanks, Merlin,” Arthur says, leaning back, eyes shut. He’s pale and still looks ill.

 

Merlin has no choice but to leave him, because three buzzers are going and as much as he dislikes Cedric, Merlin is here for the passengers and wants them to have a comfortable flight. It’s his job, after all. He moves around and makes sure people have what they need for landing, makes sure they’re set, then goes back to sit with Arthur when the seat belt light goes on.

 

The landing is unpleasant. Arthur shivers and moans in pain and vomits three times, and when they finally come to a stop there are tears all over his face and he’s trembling. Merlin’s got hold of his shoulder and is rubbing his back, making pointless hushing noises, and Gwaine has hold of him on the other side. Gwaine’s face is pinched with worry and he keeps telling Arthur off for being an idiot.

 

“Lance, gonna need to get this guy off first,” Merlin says, “Is there a wheelchair waiting?”

 

*Yeah, hang on.*

 

The radio comes on and asks people to remain seated and Gwen comes back to help and they help Arthur totter out onto the tarmac and deposit him into the wheelchair.

 

“I’m fine, I don’t need this,” Arthur grumbles, “Merlin, I need to give you my number!”

 

Merlin scribbles his own onto Arthur’s notebook and presses it into his hand, then, on impulse, he ruffles Arthur’s hair. Arthur laughs and waves, sailing away under the power of the steward who came with the chair. Merlin watches him go, then turns back to finish up his job.

 

He doesn’t go to the dinner, but he does meet Arthur in London when they both get back.


End file.
